Dedication
by Chiisai Mu
Summary: Fic experiment. You say it, i write it. Rules in first chapter. Discontinued.
1. Aika I and rules

Devoted Flower

_**Dedicated to Aika-chan (currrently under the penname FrozenBlueRose), who wanted more of this pairing to inspire her.**_

Disclaimer: i don't own YYH or the song...but i do love both of them.

Warnings: Shounen ai. That's it this time.

Genre: Angst/Romance.

Author's notes: This is the first time i've toyed with this pairing. Don't expect hot bunny-sex—damn it, BHS, now you have me hooked on that phrase!—'cause i need to adjust myself to it first. No yaoi-goodness...just shounen ai. Ain't it precious?

* * *

_ankoku no sora_ - dark sky  
_fushigi na koe_ - a strange voice  
_ittai nani ga machigai na no ka_ - what in the world is wrong?  
_kono kokoro-goto moete ii_ - it's okay if this heart of mine burns  
_ano juboku no takumashisa omoishiru_ - I think of that tree's strength  
_dare yori mo zutto tsuyoku naru_ - I'll become much stronger than anyone 

**Excerpts from the song "Nightmare" sung by Megumi Ogata, Kurama's (human form) voice actor. Translations gotten off the Internet, so if it's wrong, you'll have to excuse me.**

* * *

_...ankoku no sora..._

The storm clouds outside illuminated briefly with a new flash of lightning, bringing the sidewalks and semi-flooded streets below into view. The accompanying explosion of thunder sounded shortly afterwards, dulling the sense of hearing until the pitter-patter of the rain became obvious once more. The thunderstorm had been going on for a good two hours now, which served to worry the only occupant of the tiny apartment on the fifth floor of a building on the outskirts of Tokyo. He stared longingly out the window pane, blinking once every two and a half minutes, on average. He did so simply out of an unconscious desire to see a familiar figure flicker into sight just beyond the window and not-so-politely request shelter from the rain.

Of course, he merely took it as a "request" to keep the thoughts of this person from being excessively overbearing, because he would have liked to avoid considering this person to be rude. This person was very rude at times, but it had been perpetually ignored thanks to a tiny feeling growing inside. This feeling had gone unnoticed for long enough that a flower blossomed right under his nose, just as shunned as the feeling it had been born from for several years. It could no longer be overlooked, however, as this flower brought about feelings of deep longing.

_...fushigi na koe..._

But that feeling, once shunned and thought to be a fool's imagination, was now being utterly suppressed. This person, who was thought to be so rude, yet forgiven for such, had gone away. And there was no telling if he would return. And that little flower inside was wilting from the agony within the person gazing so dejectly at the rain. The rain, which precipitated so carelessly, so freely, as if of a will so innocent that it doubted harm could come from such a downpour. The streets were flooding from the sky's lack of consideration. This would hinder the travels of anyone out so late.

Sparing a glance to the clock on his desk, he noticed it was nearing very quickly to three in the morning. His gaze hovered down to the stereo, which was playing a smooth song with an interesting mix of orchestra and conventional instruments and a feminine voice. It was a beautiful song, he felt. And he loved the lyrics. It reminded him of the one that went away.

_...ittai nani ga machigai na no ka!_

Good question. Of course, the response would be so broad. This storm, that could be the answer. This longing he felt, that could be the answer. The desolation; the demons lingering around; the concept of death, of disease, of destruction, of being alone and unloved. But this all was merely fluttering around in the back of his mind and he returned his eyes to the window pane, watching a little solemnly, knowing there would be no knock on his door to indicate a visitor that he direly wished would stop by.

But this affection he felt was not meant to be. He knew it so dearly that it tore at his heart and soul, ripping apart the little flower that was wilting inside. He rubbed a hand over his chest, around the area over his beating heart. The emotional anguish stabbed little daggers at his physical heart, causing an ache that ought not to be there. He'd never experienced such a thing, not in all the years he'd been alive.

_...kono kokoro-goto moete ii..._

Still stroking a hand over his chest, a subtle smile played on his lips. He knew, within his heart that burned so badly, that this person—this rude person that was gone—was alive and well and happy. So, it was okay if his heart was in such agony, so long as this person was prosperous and content with life. Such was sure to be the case, as he had long since been fond of how he was sure to be living at the moment, locked in a desperate battle to survive, going on guts and wit alone, bearing through whatever hardships fate chose to throw at him. That was how he enjoyed himself, though many would find it rather awkward.

His heart was burning and it was okay. His chest was icy cold and his mouth was dry. His eyes were tired from lack of sleep and his belly rumbled from him being abstemious. He would eat momentarily, as soon as the rain stopped, but he wouldn't sleep as long as he could help it. Sleep was a cruel mistress, stealing him from conscious thought and throwing all his unconscious desires and interests at him. All this, and he couldn't do a thing to prevent it, as ceasing dreams often had sour consequences. He wasn't so desperate as to inflict himself with such things. Ceasing dreams often required ceasing sleep, which he couldn't do forever without literally killing himself. And death itself was a form of sleep, so even running away from it would inevitably bring him to it.

_...ano juboku no takumashisa omoishiru..._

Through the window pane, he saw a stray leaf toss and turn in the fierce winds just outside. It had fallen from a tall tree, he was sure. That leaf had been large and thick, strong like the tree ought to have been. It made his smile widen a little, thinking that it was surely like the one he longed for. This person was strong like the tallest, thickest tree. Hard and sturdy, stubborn and resolved...albeit a little thick.

And forever—now that he'd connected the two—this person would remind him of trees and leaves, just as another had done by lingering among such things. Although, these two people reminded him of each other. That had always come to pass, but they would surely be more related in his mind now that the pair were a memory away from each other, linked by a spider's web of thoughts and feelings. Each was only a thread away from the other. And both held a tight rein on a respectable place in his heart.

_...dare yori mo zutto tsuyoku naru..._

"I'll be strong...I'll be patient and wait," he whispered softly, seeing not beyond the window pane, but the glass itself, and noticing his reflection in it. Of course he would he strong. He always was strong. He was the fox thief of the demon realm and, despite his emotions strengthening from becoming fond of his human mother, he was still as strong as he'd always been. "And, once you no longer belong to another, I'll have my chance. I have centuries to wait."

Beyond the glass, and beyond the rain, in a little niche in the demon realm, the one he longed for was watching a similar storm from his side of the horizon. He blinked his chocolate eyes before a sneeze erupted from him. He shook his head and wondered who would be thinking about him at such a late hour. Always, the feelings the fox had for the hanyou would be left to shatter, forever assumed to be a helpful hand of friendship, as opposed to the devoted flower of love.

* * *

O.o i wrote Kurama/Yusuke. One-sided as it was, it was Kurama/Yusuke. Well, i've never done that pairing before, so it was a new experience, though the angst/romance genre was a very familiar feeling. So, it compensates for the somewhat awkward feeling i had doing that last paragraph. Heh heh... Hope you enjoyed it, Aika-chan! 

5:00 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Friday, August 26, 2005.

Owakare.

Chiisai Mu.  
_Little Nothing._

* * *

This is, as stated in the summary, a "request and dedication thing." You supply me with a few details and i'll write a one-shot based on information given. It helps to hone my skills as a writer (and gives me something to do...) and it's a little shameless self-promotion on your part. So, here we go... 

**Rules!** (yeah, i'm a little too specific with a few things...)

This is what i want:

_One_: i need a pairing or main characters involved. This is a vital piece. For a pairing, use the "someone/someone" approach (notice the backslash). For just a pair or trio or however many people, use "someone and someone" approach (notice the "and"). This will allow me to understand if you want it as a romantic thing or not. Should the review system prove to be a total bitch, the backslash will disappear, but there will be no space between the names, so i'll understand.

_Two_: i need genre. At most three. ...that's about it for genre.

_Three_: i need a plot summary. You can give me an ending or let me surprise you. Whichever. This is not required, but if you don't give it to me, i may not supply exactly what you may want. If you don't want to supply me with a summary, tell me the plot is at my whim, otherwise i'll be wondering if you forgot or not and stare into the ceiling for a while. If you chose not to give me one, it may take a bit for me to figure what to write.

_Four_: i need to know what you want to be said at the dedication. i will say your name (penname is mandatory unless you don't have a FanFiction account; nickname is optional), and a little something if you so chose. Use your words wisely, and please avoid lying. For instance, if you ask me to put that you and i are best buds and i have you to thank for every major achievement of mine—goodness forbid someone saying that—i'm going to laugh and ignore it. i will still write the chapter(s), but the dedication will simply comprise of your name and nothing more (unless i chose to be a smart-ass and add my own little comment).

_Five_: Have patience when you request. i'll work on them as i get them, so don't immediately assume yours will be the next that i post.

This is what i don't want:

_One_: For the love of good fanfiction, please avoid OCs. i honestly could do without them better than with them, unless you want me to do a Mary-Sue parody, which is definitely _not_ my specialty.

_Two_: Please, avoid the canon-character/OC pairing. This will likely end ill, as i have a tendency to either make OCs out to be Mary-Sues, have a very miniscule part in the fic, or dead. ...the last one is my personal favorite.

_Three_: Please, for the love of my insanity and Hiei's persona, avoid pairing anyone with Hiei. Unless you want the relationship to fail in one way or another, i'd probably royally screw it up, 'cause i just can't see Hiei being in love. (If you _want_ the pairing to fail, feel free to request it. i love a good angst-fest.)

_Four_: For the dedication, as i already touched on, do not lie, do not be stupid about it (funny is okay, but stupid isn't tolerable), and do avoid making me into an advertisement. i'm not the television here, and i'm not out to suggest whatever fics to whoever. Yes, the mere mention of your name is shameless self-promotion on your part, but i'm not going to go on a false tangent about how i love Whoever's fic "Blah Blah" just because you gave me a suggestion. Again, such an attempt will be laughed at and ignored.

_Five_: Don't just give me what you want a chapter to be like without commenting on at least one of the chapters i've posted. You can say something as insignificant as "Great job!" but don't go without saying at least something.

_Six_: Do not force yourself into thinking of something you want written. i would hate to be blamed for your aneurism. There will be plenty of chapters as long as i get enough requests and you'll be able to suggest something as soon as you think of it. Okay? Please, don't overexert yourselves. i would hate for that to happen. (No pity parties. i don't want you hurt, but i'm not playing into any guilt trips either.)

_Seven_: Don't think you're restricted to one dedication. Suggest as many things as you'd like and i'll get them written as soon as possible. If i can't find it within myself to finish something, i'll make a special request to you to change your idea. But i will work as hard as i can to get whatever you want to work.

_Eight_: No crossovers. Period. This is purely Yu Yu Hakusho.

Special Circumstances:

_One_: Should i feel that i could do your idea more justice as a fic of its own, i will ask to...erm..."steal" the idea and use it as its own. You'll of course be mentioned as the owner of the idea and i'll still dedicate it to you. And, as always, you can refuse and i'll try my best at throwing it into this. If you do let me steal the idea, i'll post the first chapter in this thing, then continue in another fic.

_Two_: Should you dislike what i've done with your idea...should i happen to kill all the visions you have of the concept, you can request to have the chapter removed. It won't be my place to refuse, but if i particularly like it, i will make a simple request to keep it up and offer to rewrite it, hopefully to your expectations, and post the rewritten version as a separate chapter. Both will still be dedicated to you, though if you dislike the previous one so much, i can repost it and remove the dedication and replace it with a filler dedication. This, of course, will be to a nonexistent person with the note that it has been changed for the betterment of the one that supplied the request.

_Three_: There may be an instance that i feel a single chapter would not do justice to an idea, but i can't expand on it enough to be a true multi-chapter fic. (i think multi-chapter fics should have at least ten chapters, or mine should, anyway.) If such a thing occurs, the request will span out for a length of up to four chapters. i will be monitoring all the chapters and hoping that they are all approximately the same length, sheerly because i'm a tad obsessive-compulsive. (Not quite enough to repost every chapter that i find a tiny mistake on, but enough that i read over the fics i write at least three times before posting a chapter, scanning diligently for error. i've gotten better at that over the years.)

That's about it:

Now, for the sake of getting you all out of this page and onto the review button, i'll stop racking my brain for any other rules that may appear. Should i need to change or add something, it'll appear in a future chapter.

Hope to get some requests. i haven't much better to do, really.


	2. BHS

Hounding the Fox

**Dedicated to BHS...just because i said so. She shares an obsession with me. "What obsession is that?" you ask. Of course, an obsession with Karasu.**

Warnings:  
1) My poor poetry (or i think it's poor; you're allowed to have your own opinions). Or it might just be half-assed.  
2) Shounen ai (as always).  
3) Character death.  
4) Karasu's POV (let's hope i can write him), and his obsession with the fox.  
5) Derogatory comments about humans ('cause we do suck).  
6) My infamously hackneyed Karasu/Kurama pairing. i love it dearly. (_huggles pairing_)  
7) Karasu (plus) humor (equals) bashing and sexual innuendo.  
8) The **very** canine title. Heh.  
9) Excessive use of the word "damn."

Genre: Humor...maybe a tad of romance, but would obsession really amount to romance?

Author's notes: Although i would do a beautiful job with hot bunny-sex with this pairing, i won't. i'm keeping a decent PG-13 as highest rating. i refuse to go R! So, you'll have to seek your yaoi-goodness-gratification elsewhere.

_Chimei-teki na aibu_ is something i made up. It translates, roughly, to "fatal embrace." You'll understand when you come to it. i'd use English for it, but the Japanese makes it sound a whole lot more...subtle, i think. More eloquent, more graceful and beautiful. (i'm getting into the Karasu persona now! Just wait a few minutes and i'll be caressing people's necks and saying their corpses are _mine_!)

* * *

Please. Allow me to begin with a poem of my own concoction. I'm new to this, so don't expect much. (How could you not? You're human... Damn your stereotypes and expectations.)

_Once upon a little time, in a place not so very far away.  
__The likes of which **you** cannot know were sent to frolick and play.  
__And once upon this little time, a fox was brought to light.  
__He had no idea what desire there was in his opponent of the upcoming fight._

_His moves so graceful, his attacks so sleek, his anger shining in his eyes.  
__Fighting so relentlessly under the cover of his human guise.  
__I, of course, could see right through this little charade he had.  
__Not that I wanted to, you see, as his form was not so bad._

_From the tips of his toes, to the top of his head, so very beautiful.  
__Though, he happened to be abhorred by me to deepest parts of his soul.  
__Pity as it was I continued, because such a thing has always been...  
__Heh...like you could possibly understand. You're just **human**._

_The tale comes to an end, and the fox leaves my careful gaze.  
__Damn the plant, and the blood loss too, as I drift into a weakened daze.  
__But this shall not stop me, no, as I have much too much on my mind.  
__This is only a setback, you see, and I shan't run far behind._

Anyone commenting on poor quality or lack of creativity will get blown up. Promptly. Trust me. There's nowhere you can hide, and I'll be damned if you're fast enough to run from me. Humans... Pathetic creatures.

Of course, you probably already know that, don't you? You create your little cities and hide within them, clustering yourselves together in a way that makes you easily susceptible to large-scale assaults from—who else?—your own species. Like I said, pathetic. And the greater majority of the demon race would agree. After all, _we_ have better defenses on our cities.

But, despite all the weak impulses and weaker emotional connections, my dear fox became one of you. Somewhat sad, but I can't complain about his physical form. Doubtless, he's one of the more beautiful ones involved in your degenerate societies. Add physical attractiveness to the intelligence of a demon fox, toss it with charm and _good manners_—which most of your kind needs to learn—and he's going to end up being one of the more prosperous of your kind. Not surprising. In the least. That is the advantage of being a demon. We're smarter, wiser, better-looking, and all around closer to absolute perfection...though, I have to admit that Kurama's come closer than most. He's adorable, isn't he?

Don't answer that. If you dare, I'll kill you. He's _mine_, damn it! I don't care what he says. He's mine. I staked my claim when I first set my hands on him. You've never lived in the demon realm. You wouldn't understand. It's the principle of the matter. Let me try to think of a facsimile you're idiotic human world has conjured up. I hate doing this. Your societies are so subsufficient...

"Dibs"? Is that the word? Damn, I hate human world languages. Too many slang terms.

Your useless word play set aside, Kurama's mine. I don't give a damn about what anyone says or does. ...well, I don't care about what anyone says, but if someone, anyone other than me, goes near my fox, they're getting a crash course in spontaneous combustion. No exceptions. Of course, I wouldn't be inclined to complain if he... Never mind. None of you need to know what I want from him. This is, however, something you could comprehend, no matter that I hate to admit that human brain capacity is that broad...where some humans are concerned anyway. I absolutely refuse to believe that all humans can understand what I'm speaking of. With your drugs and alcohol, and your species having children born completely lacking a brain—very literally, as well as figuratively, I might add—there's no way in the three realms that all of you are quite so intelligent.

Last I heard, no demon was ever born without a brain. We've been known to be missing limbs, but that's the fault of the damned doctors not knowing how to perform a semi-decent Caesarean section. ...meaning that some demons have detachable limbs. Kind of disgusting. Of course, it wouldn't be so much if Kurama had detachable limbs. Perhaps that can be arranged. Then again, normally said limbs are lame and only there for the sake of being there. Wouldn't want to disable my fox, now would I? That would hinder our fun. Not that you'd understand.

Returning to the bad manners of you humans, do you realize how improper it is to step on someone's foot and not apologize? I'd kill all the people in this god-awful city if it wasn't for Koenma. Or not. That would alert my poor fox. Ah, there is he. If it wasn't for these arrogant humans in my way, there to witness whatever endeavor I make to grab him and go, I'd have him already. Now do you see why you humans are so aggravating? Not just your manners, your lack of refinement, your ignorance, your weakness, and all the other setbacks you inevitably have just _because_ you are human, but you also obstruct my path. And, just for that, damn you. I hope you all get eaten by a _chimei-teki na aibu_.

But of course, you're human, so you won't understand what I'm talking about. _Chimei-teki na aibu_, which you couldn't comprehend, being human as you are, is a plant. This plant, from the demon realm obviously, is one that I doubt even my fox has heard of. It's rare and exclusive and very dangerous. If you know anything at all about me, I guess you can see why I like it so much. This plant, versatile and resilient, lives in the deeper parts of dank places, appreciating stone walls to cling to. As one that knows of my family's castle can assume, I have a few in my basement. They are carnivorous, as you can guess from me hoping you die by one, and squeeze their victims to death before swallowing them whole. Of course, I wouldn't feed you to _my_ plants. Being human, you'd probably give them indigestion.

Back to the more important of the subjects, Kurama's right ahead of me. Less than a meter away. I reach out for him, but the damn humans are in the way. People are staring at me now. No, I am not infected with frotteurism! ...just sexual sadism, but is that so wrong?

My fingers brush through his hair and he turns around and gives a wide emerald gaze to me. In his futile attempt to run away—though he must have known this crowded street, full of useless humans, would stop him—he proved to be not quite as graceful as he'd previously displayed and fell into the road. My eyes widened as a car ran by, the tire crushing his chest and ensuring his death. Damn it.

And _that_ clinches it. You humans _suck!_

* * *

i'll have to stick these this author's notes things at the bottom, since the top is...cluttered. Hope you liked. i'm always looking for new requests. i have five chapters written total so far...though, i still haven't finished the third one, i may have to skip it.

**Thanks!** Nyte Kit (i have your chapter written), Aika-chan, and miyako14.

Frotteurism is gaining sexual stimulation by brushing up against unconsenting people. i heard that it happens a lot in Japanese subways. (i think that's all...)

All right, then. i'll see you all later.

11:45 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Wednesday, August 31, 2005.

Owakare.

Chiisai Mu.  
_Little Nothing._


	3. Mana I, part 1

Traditions

**Dedicated to Mana (penname: HalfMetal Homunculus). She says to thank my writing talent and her twisted mind for this fic. i couldn't agree more.**

Disclaimer: i don't own much of anything, really.

Warnings:  
1) Character deaths (yay!).  
2) A tad OOC-ness. Hey, it's horror, so there's gotta be.

Genre: Romance and horror. i think it's stretching it a bit on both, though...

Author's notes: i, honestly, like this pairing. i've just never cared to do it. Now, i have a reason to, so...yeah. Anway, this is a two-chapter ficlet. It's separated about by half, but the second half is a tad longer. By the way, for those that don't know, Cubist paintings and such are things like Pablo Picasso's paintings. Also, this is set after the demon realm tournament, meaning Hiei's returned to the demon world, not to return. All right. Follow closely, now.

* * *

"I'm sure Hiei would appreciate this so much more," the fox muttered quietly as he spoke with Yusuke, who was giving a mildly skeptical look to his back. Kurama was staring idly out the window, watching the raindrops clash against the streets. They were sitting in Yusuke's bedroom, the half-breed himself sitting on the bed, which had been moved across the room out of a hatred of monotony. The fox was standing about half a meter from the window, his arms folded behind his back. He was wearing a crimson tunic, the underclothing a pale gold. There was a black and white Cubist imprint of a fox that appeared to slink around on the back of the tunic. He looked rather formal compared to Yusuke's blue jeans and T-shirt combo.

After biting away at a chipping fingernail, Yusuke pulled his forefinger from between his teeth and asked, "Are you sure Kuwabara won't try to kill you for this?"

A soft snort was his reply, followed by the fox turning around and giving him a subtle grin that asked what made him think Kuwabara could succeed in such an endeavor. The human obviously didn't worry him, causing a deep frown to be born on Yusuke's face. His brow creased and he mouthed a question, but was interrupted in his silent inquiry. "It has long since been thought that humans and demons should remain separate from each other. This just feels proper, Yusuke. You must understand."

"Kuwabara's head-over-heels for Yukina. It'll kill him to find her cheating."

Shaking his head, the fox turned his gaze to the floor at Yusuke's right foot, his left hovering in the air as his left shin was balanced on his right knee. Those emerald orbs left the ground a second later to meet Yusuke's chocolate eyes with a stern gaze. "It won't be adultery or anything of the like. She lived in the demon realm and, by demon realm customs, he has no applicable claim over her until he marks her. And, as he's a human, he doesn't know how to mark her. She will never be his in such a thorough sense. He just thinks that she's his."

With a disapproving frown, Yusuke gave a defeated sigh. He shook his head, his eyes drifting shut, and rested his elbows on the elevated shin. His palms covered his face as he rested it into them, not entirely sure how he could counter the fox. Yukina was a demon, so demon realm customs applied to her, just as they applied to Kurama. And it wasn't uncommon in the demon realm for several males to be physically involved with an unclaimed female, and vice versa. After spending a few years there, he was very familiar with the ways of the demon plane.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Kurama." The fox tilted his head a little to the side, though Yusuke didn't notice with his eyes cast to the floorboards. "Why can't you leave them alone? Just because you think they shouldn't be together doesn't mean they shouldn't." His gaze returned to the fox, and a startled look crossed his face to see a deep glare resting on him, something he could have easily expected from Hiei, but not so much from the fox. He tried to speak, but the fox slowly closed most of the distance between them and kneeled down to be eye level with him.

A slender hand moved to Yusuke's face, tracing a line from the corner of his left eye to the corner of his lips. "Kuwabara would drag Yukina to the grave with him when he died, should she be allowed to care for him in such a deeper sense. I gave my promise to Hiei that I'd watch over her, and I cannot allow Kuwabara to bring her down. In the demon realm, more often than not, union leads to love. In this human world, in this culture that you've been raised in, love leads to union. Kuwabara wants her for the latter. Yukina allows it for the former, and she doesn't realize that he would die so very prematurely. She knows he is not a normal human, but doesn't comprehend that his death will be scheduled after so many years, just as any other human's. She will be left alone, and she will have nothing else for herself. I cannot allow this to happen. I gave Hiei my word."

Standing, the fox gave Yusuke a single nod in farewell and departed. He would not head home, however. He would journey to Genkai's temple and pay Yukina a visit. Kuwabara might be there, but he would leave soon since his sister had stringent holds on his curfew, as he was in his last year of high school and couldn't afford to lose study time. The fox himself held a job at his stepfather's company, a small one that would pay for college, so he could be out as late as he wished, so long as he assured his mother that he'd put in his time studying. He never did study, as he absorbed information like a sponge, but she couldn't dispute the lies based on his grades, as he was at the top of his class.

The rain continued to bat at the pavement, making the cars that darted by splash up water that would have gotten the fox soaked, if it wasn't for the tide of humans standing between the street and himself. His shoes were clacking lightly against the pavement, the sound nearly drowning in the other noises around him. But the fox could distinctly catch the sound of a familiar tread catching up to him. He glanced back and gave one of his stereotypical subtle smiles to Kuwabara, offering him shelter under the umbrella he bore.

With a broad grin, the human gave a greeting. "Hey, where ya heading?" he asked as he caught his breath, which took very little time as he was not a normal human. The fox replied that he was considering a visit to Genkai's temple and asked if Kuwabara wished to join him. "That'd be cool. I was out here with Yukina, you know, getting something to eat and visiting Eikichi with her. Then, she remembered some urgent thing that she didn't get a chance to explain and rushed off. She's faster than she looks, lemme tell ya."

Arching his eyebrows, Kurama looked to the human's face with mild surprise. Yukina was out here? He hadn't sensed her energy signature at all. He gave a somewhat interested hum and asked, "Is that so?" The human gave an affirmative, adding that she had left the store they'd been in and disappeared immediately. No matter which direction he'd looked, there'd been no sign of her. "Well, she _is_ a demon..." the fox replied, shifting his gaze to the street ahead of them.

The crosswalk up ahead was green, so neither bothered to slow to a halt as the tide of bodies continued moving. A couple stopped suddenly and turned, giving Kurama and Kuwabara the front. The crosswalk flickered, causing them to pause right before the street. The cars blew up, causing sprays of water to hit the shins of Kurama's pants, but thankfully not get much higher. Kuwabara, having ran in the rain, was already about as saturated as he could get, so the splashes didn't bother him.

The onslaught of cars came to a brief stop, but the crosswalk remained red. The fox looked around the street, seeing cars parallel with them waiting patiently to be let go, as the thread of perpendicular cars seemed to have snapped. He tapped a single foot forward before a rough shove forced him to lose balance and fall to his knees. Rain began soaking his shirt as his umbrella had fallen. He moved to turn a glare to whoever had pushed him, but the blare of a car horn took his attention away and to a mauve Honda Civic about to collide with him. The screech of tires hit his ears next, then he jumped back, landing on his tailbone as he plummeted back onto the sidewalk, the sound of the car flattening his umbrella assaulting his ears. Metal snapped and the tarp tore violently.

With a deep breath, the fox watched as the driver got out and rushed to see if he was okay. The both of them apologized profusely for what had happened, Kurama for having fallen into the road and his umbrella probably causing damage to the undercarriage of the car, the driver for the scare he must having given Kurama and destroying his umbrella. Kuwabara heaved the fox to his feet and suggested they both go home instead of to Genkai's temple. The crosswalk was green, so he half-dragged Kurama across the street and in the direction of the nearest subway station. The abandoned umbrella would be thrown away once it was determined that the motorist's car was undeed unharmed, never another thought given to it.

"Mother will be appalled that I allowed myself to get soaked," the fox muttered half-heartedly. He heaved a heavy breath, thankful that everyone had decided that police and ambulances were unnecessary and he wouldn't have to tell his mother that he'd almost been run over by a car.

"Well, be glad you're soaked in rainwater and not blood," Kuwabara told him a little darkly. The fox's gaze rested on the human, noticing that there was something etched on his face, something like...like disappointment. Had he...? Shaking his head slowly, Kurama abandoned the thought. Kuwabara wouldn't have pushed him into a street, especially for no reason. Unless he knew the fox was courting Yukina behind his back... But was Kuwabara that intuitive? He was probably upset that he'd be going home instead of seeing Yukina. That was all, the fox figured.

* * *

First half for a two chapter dedication.

**Thanks!** FrozenBlueRose (Aika-chan), The Thief Kuronue, Miya, miyako14, Nyte Kit, and Mr. Shishio.

**Rule alteration**: A little bit of clarification... Although i love the idea of not having to think, it would be greatly appreciated if you would be brief in the plot summary. Not that i don't want to supply what everyone wants, but if you're going to give me every detail of what happens, you might as well write it yourself. Not intending to insult or reprimand anyone, but the fact remains. i cannot improve where plots are concerned if you give me each little detail in the fic. Thank you and have a nice day.

Review.

12:45 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Wednesday, September 07, 2005.

Owakare.

Chiisai Mu.  
_Little Nothing._


	4. Mana I, part 2

Warnings and such in the previous chapter.

Still dedicated to Mana. Yayness for Mana.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

At sunset the next evening, the fox left his mother's apartment and headed toward Genkai's temple, a fresh set of casual clothes on as opposed to the suit he was halfway forced to wear to work. His classes were in the morning, his hours at work in the afternoon, and his free time in the evenings, which suited him perfectly. He loved the dusk air and subtle crimson glow of the sun.

As he hadn't been able to the previous evening, Kurama began walking toward Genkai's temple to pay Yukina a visit. He could only hope that Kuwabara wasn't there, otherwise he'd be unable to hold back the lingering suspicion from the previous evening. He couldn't assure himself one way or the other. He knew Kuwabara was more intelligent than many people gave the human credit for, but would he be so wary of Kurama that he would guess the truth? Would he know that Kurama was trying to take Yukina away from him? Kurama couldn't help but think that was preposterous.

The red sunlight bled over the air, illuminating storefronts and bringing the last lingering bit of light to the children playing in the streets. Display windows were nothing more than glares of light that blinded the passerby unless it was guarded against. Kurama took care to do just that, knowing that he had been lucky to dodge the car last night, and he wasn't one to take his chances at missing the red crosswalk and sauntering right into oncoming traffic.

A small child ran by him, circling around him before dashing back in the direction that he'd come from, distracting Kurama for a moment before he gave a subtle shrug and ignored the child. His gaze returned to the sidewalk ahead of him. The laughter of children hit his ears again as two of them-one being the boy from a moment ago and one being a new girl-sprinted ahead of him. The pair looked between each other sporatically before the boy leapt to the side and began climbing a flight of stairs outside an apartment building. The girl skidded to a halt and turned to follow, climbing at a quicker rate to catch up.

As the fox got to the apartment building they were climbing, he stopped and stared at them. The boy continued to remain a good five steps ahead of the girl, but neither seemed to care that they were so far apart. The fox gave another grin to the display. He'd never had a playmate like that in his childhood. He'd been a very untrusting fox thief trapped in the body of a small human child and had only bothered with friends to avoid being dubbed anti-social and forced into therapy. But he'd never cared to play in such a manner. He'd preferred seclusion.

Finally taking his gaze from them, Kurama caught the sound of yelling and looked up to see a vase falling from the sky. He jumped from the path and watched it smash against the concrete. More yells preceded a young man dashing from an apartment on the fourth floor and coming in a collision with the girl. She gasped and slammed against the railing, then slid to the ground. The boy went to check on her, then glared at the man, who was running from an apparently angry girlfriend.

The man reached the ground and began dashing away, ignoring that he wasn't wearing any shoes. The fox caught sight of a woman up on the fourth floor, his eyes widening to see that she was carrying a shotgun. She glanced at him before taking aim and firing. Before she pulled the trigger, Kurama turned tail and ran, hearing the shot digging into the concrete. Another shot trailed him before he turned a corner and heaved his breaths in and out. His eyes were wide as he stared around the street, noticing that it was strangely empty.

_'What was wrong with that woman?'_ the fox wondered angrily. He didn't look anything like the man that had run from her apartment, so how could she mistake them? It was highly unlikely that she'd open fire on a random person on the street. The only way she could have thought he was the man running from her was if there was some illusion on him. He glanced at himself, seeing his own clothes and body.

The sound of shoes clacked against the ground and the woman with the shotgun turned a look around the corner. She narrowed her eyes at him before passing him by, not lifting the gun as she trotted around him. Definitely an illusion.

How could he have had an illusion on him and not noticed? But of course, the children had been a distraction. His attention had been sent astray. So, they had either been enticed to distract him, or had been hired to. But that made little sense, as demons were often prone to underestimate others and would have tried to commit the action without distracting him. That would be true, as long as they didn't know him and his attention to detail. So, either he was being watched without his notice-which was almost impossible with said attention to detail-or it had been planned out by someone familiar to him.

After two attempts at his life, the fox was about fed up with this. His decision was made, then. This was too much of a coincidence to not be plotted and, as Kuwabara had motive, he was the first suspect. Kurama wasn't about to tolerate such actions against him. He didn't care if he was intruding on what the human thought to be his territory. He was being as possessive as a demon, and hadn't even cared to ask what the fox thought himself to be doing.

Leaving behind the children and the woman with the shotgun, Kurama headed toward Kuwabara's apartment. It wasn't so far away that he'd need to take a subway, though that would have been the quicker method. His footsteps were hurried as any tread in a city would be, though his disposition was about as sour as Hiei's normally would be. The humans around him didn't immediately suffer a glare, but anyone that dared to bother him would receive a prompt scowl and be ignored. More often than not, a scowl would get whoever it was to leave him be. Not very many people appreciated being watched with eyes that said the onlooker would rather kill them than talk to them.

Upon reaching Kuwabara's apartment, the ill demeanor sank down and he knocked on the door, finding that it swung open under his touch. He blinked at it, the bad mood now genuinely gone, replaced with a curiosity. It didn't seem likely for this family to have left the door wide open, or Kurama thought that. He took a careful step in and asked in a higher than decent volume, "Hello? Is anyone home?"

No response.

Now a little suspicious of the circumstances, Kurama slipped off his shoes and plucked a rosebud from his hair. He slipped silently through the house as he checked each room in turn, finding nothing but empty space and a note for Kuwabara in an unfamiliar handwriting that told him "we" would be back that evening. Who "we" were was a mystery to Kurama, but he could brazenly assume that it was from Kuwabara's parents and sister.

At the final room, Kurama found himself staring at what was sure to be the door of Kuwabara's bedroom. He knocked twice, asking, "Kuwabara? Are you in there?" Again, he got no response. With nothing else to lose by checking, the fox pressed his left hand over the doorknob, feeling the icy touch of the metal, and turned. He spared a glance inside, muttering, "Kuwaba-" His breath left him all at once in shock. His rose fell from his hand as he opened the door wider still to cast his gaze upon walls that were drenched in blood, splatters of it trickling in streams across posters and the window. The mattress and bedsheets were completely saturated, which was not surprising in itself as, on the bed, Kuwabara laid, blood-soaked and pallid.

Stepping more fully into the room, Kurama set his gaze on Kuwabara, finding his beady, brown eyes were constantly watching the ceiling. He was unblinking, unmoving. Hesitantly, Kurama took his pulse, finding it nonexistent. He cast his gaze tentatively over the rest of his body, finding a gaping wound in his abdomen, through which all of his internal organs, save his heart and lungs, were ripped out and lying over the side of the bed, carefully cut loose from the body and discarded. His arms and legs were tied to the bed, keeping him from moving his dead limbs, but that would serve no real purpose, and neither would the gag. These things had been set in place to keep his living form still as whoever had done this eviscerated him while he was alive, keeping the organs necessary for immediately survival inside as he suffered this death.

"Who would do such a thing?" he whispered harshly.

"Good question," came a voice, drawing his attention to the door, where Yukina stood, teargems falling to the ground. The fox relaxed and gave his gaze back to Kuwabara. "I suppose he's no longer here to compete with you, though. You should not mourn his death. It is inappropriate."

"In the demon realm, yes. But he was a friend to this human life...so no. It's not."

"We are demons, Kurama. Demon realm traditions should be inforced. Just as humans and demons should not hybridize, just as competitors should not pity one another, just as you should not mourn for the passing of one whose path obstructed your own-"

"What about the laws of your people? Would you obey those?"

"The laws of my people state that I should kill whosoever should dare to court me." The fox turned his gaze back to her to see a bloody knife in her grasp. Her eyes were cool and stolid. The teargems had ceased falling. The fox backed away and moved to draw another rosebud from his hair, but the air around him froze solid and he was trapped within a shield of ice. "May your soul find peace, disrobed of this frail form," the Koorime muttered quietly, as if giving last rites. "May your soul find solace in that you are cleansed of these internal working." She rose the knife up and scratched a line down the fox's front, piercing his skin as well as his shirt. "May your life be given to help that of the Koorime child growing within this womb, that she should follow the guidelines and customs of my tribe, that we should live in peace without the interruption you forced upon us."

Passing a final glance to the hard eyes Kurama put upon her, Yukina blinked. "You do not fear the death I gave to Kazuma." She gave a faint grin. "You would make a good mate, if this were not necessary." Her fingers sank into the wound as she proceeded to cleanse her Koorime soul of the evils males put upon her.

* * *

Yay. Ritual murder. Ice demonesses kick ass.

Just to tell you, the implications of her being pregnant are my thinking along the lines that Koorime reproduce asexually. They're like sentient cloning machines: each can create a child herself and she'll, supposedly, look exactly like her mother. This is only altered when they bed with a male, upon which time two children are conceived, one of which is a Koorime that looks like her mother, the other a male and thought of as forbidden and taboo. So, the kid in her womb is a pure Koorime.

**Thanks!** FrozenBlueRose (Aika-chan), HalfMetal Homunculus (Mana), miyako14, and Nyte Kit. Hope you all liked the conclusion and i hope school doesn't kill you. Heh.

10:40 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Wednesday, September 14, 2005.

Owakare.

Chiisai Mu.  
_Little Nothing._


	5. Mr Shishio

Poetic Justice

**Dedicated to Mr. Shishio, who is actually not a Mr...but we won't spoil her fun.**

Warnings:  
1) Probably confusing.  
2) Only the prologue to a longer fic.  
3) First person POV, using a "character" that has little relevance to the story itself.

Genre: i suppose it's a little mystery this chapter, though afterwards it would be drama...i think?

Author's notes: By all appearances, it looks like Youko Kurama had four tails. i don't know where i got the idea, but i had previously been under the delusion that he has seven. Where did that come from? i must be going stupid...

_"I was a son who loved his mother."_ - quote taken from the translated, American-sold manga

**This is only the first chapter to a fic i will post in the future under the title "Poetic Justice." You're not going to get the next chapter, so if i intrigue you, pester me relentlessly to finish the damn fic.** Thank you.

* * *

Sheerly for the fact that I'm not here, but I am, I can't elaborate on _what_ I am. I cannot elaborate on _who_ I am, because there is no what that I am. And, to be a scoundrel about it all, I'm not going to tell you why I'm here either. But, of course, I'm not here. I already told you that. So, tell me, what could I possibly be that is here, but not here, is a something that couldn't possibly be, and have not a purpose of being but still exists? I'd tell you, but what fun would that be? That is my riddle that I beg of you to answer before my tale is done.

Ah, but I told you I'm not saying why I'm here. No, telling this tale is not why I'm here. This yarn is merely a formality, a hope that you will be enlightened in a sense to enable you to know what I am. Perhaps you will, perhaps you won't. Who am I to tell, especially when I have no identity? I am a faceless name, a word with no meaning, a thought without elaboration, an ever-changing creation that always remains the same. I am incomplete, but very whole. A contradiction, you say? I'm one of those as well. How could I not be? You are as well, because you are human, and demon, and animal, and plant. You are matter, so you are inherently a contradiction in and of yourself. But that's the fun of things, isn't it? To have a variety of resources and tastes, to be able to see through several eyes and understand at least two points of view. And you can't not understand at least two, otherwise you would be one-dimensional, which I am positive that you are not.

However, I am not here to discuss your shortcomings or your advantages, your _being_, if I may be permitted the use of such a broad term. I have digressed, because I am to tell a tale, to spin a yarn, to convey the knowledge of a peculiar event to you. And this particular event centers around a very infamous four-tailed fox spirit and his human form. Youko Kurama and Minamino Shuichi. Of course, both of them go by the familiar name "Kurama," if I'm not mistaken, which I know I'm not. Don't call me conceited until I prove myself to be, as we've only begun.

For those unfamiliar with his tale, Kurama was a fox in his first life, left to his own devices at a young age and quickly taking to the art of thievery during the centuries that he was excessively bored. Yes, _bored_. He did this for fun, the little rascal. I use the term loosely, as mischievous is often belied as malicious, and vice versa. As, on normal circumstances, a rascal is mischievous and really intends no harm on whoever the trick is played upon—should there be merely a game and nothing wholeheartedly malignant—this four-tailed fox had a habit of forcing his toys to insanity and laughing about it. He was not much of a fair player, really. And this, his trade, was merely a way to pass the time between his playmates and twisted games.

"What kind of games?" you must surely be asking. Why, I should hate to give away that kind of detail so early in this telling. I don't hate to, but I still won't say. As I already told you, I'm a bit of a scoundrel. Although, "wicked" does seem to understate it a tad.

This fox, the protagonist of our tale—as well as the antagonist, but I won't tell if you won't—made his living as a thief, as previously noted. He slipped on a tree root one too many times, despite it being the first time done, and caught himself at the wrong end of a bounty hunter's rifle. He had a magnificent run, but fate has a way of paying back double what is owed to her. Thievery has its price to pay, you know.

But—here's the part where you gasp—this fox did not succumb to fate! Oh, how aghast fate must have been at such a turn of events. He dashed away from the body that was so nimble, so beautiful, and ran for the human realm. He sank deep into the womb of a human and felt his fox limbs disappear into the tiny embryo of a growing human, pushing away potential souls from having the home they deserved for coming into existence. He'd had his chance and he'd blown it, they exclaimed. He'd died and deserved such a fate. But did this fox listen? Oh, no. He was safely tucked into the womb of a woman that would sacrifice her blood for his. How unfitting that—this coward of a soul, this thief and murderer, this creature so easily detested for acts unthinkable in the human realm—this fox would find a womb within a mother that would care for him so lovingly.

Now, follow closely. We have a murderer and a thief, a fox spirit. Stripped of his tails and bore furless before the towering numbers of human witnesses, he faced the human world, his human mother at constant watch, not because she feared his behavior, but because she feared that harm would come to him. He was a cold-hearted, ruthless, cunning demon in innocent, kind, intelligent human form.

Make much sense? Didn't think so.

However, as the years blew by in a wave of schoolwork, friends, acquaintances, enemies, attacks, motherly love, random demons, and all that he would have had to contend with to earn his place in this human society and avoid getting killed to boot, this fox found love. Please, do avoid jumping to conclusions. I'm not talking about romance love, or puppy love, but a family. _That_ love. If I recall correctly, which I most certainly do, his words to a friend were, "I was a son who loved his mother."

Ah, the plot thickens, yes? Shall we do a few semi-mathematical calculations? Murdering, thieving, diabolical fox spirit turned human (plus) loving human mother that would shed her blood to save his (plus) living a decent life with _proper_ morals (equals) humane fox thief with a sense of judicial actions, plots, thoughts, etcetera.

However, there's something definitely missing from these calculations, if I'm not mistaken. Again, I'm not. Where in there does it claim the fox had compensated for his wrongs in his previous life? Where does it say he learned his lesson? If you point to the "etcetera," I will laugh at you. That in no way means he got retribution.

Ah, but the end has yet to come. He encounters not just a fire demon infamous in the demon realm as he himself had been before death, but he meets with—who else?—the spirit detective of the time! This brings about too many odd occurrences to count, including his being dragged into missions for the spirit world and not one, but two tournaments that he could very well have met his end with. Yes, he entered the second by choice, but that's beside the point, isn't it? Yes, it is.

With these happenings taken into consideration, we're going to say they balance each other out. In previous years of his human life, he did nothing to tip the scale either for or against him. This translates to this: he hasn't been a thorn in anyone's side, but he hasn't taken it upon himself to earn redemption either. So, in the face of his crimes—theft, murder, and all that he'd become an expert at doing in his previous life—added to those things done to atone for that—work for the spirit realm, being a decent influence on others that severely needed it, working for the betterment of human kind as a whole—he'd remained about even throughout the next few years.

Again, no sign of atonement in sight. No punishment for the silver, four-tailed fox. Sad, isn't it? All because fate has a tendency to be increasingly vicious the longer she has to wait for payment. Humans call her karma, and they call her fate. They call her fortune, and they call her destiny. Really, it's all overrated, because one sentence sums up all her qualities and characteristics. Fate is, in a word, a _bitch_.

So, with that cleared up, I should move on to the tale itself, as I'm sure you're all about fed up with my sauntering down memory lane. Please, bear in mind what all I've told you. Keep with you the knowledge that his previous life and his current form were so completely opposites that it's hardly possible that they could be the same mind, albeit true. Because two personalities are sure to collide. And the fox will get his retribution.

Please, follow me. I'm sure it would be much simpler if you did so, as these forests of the mind are often akin to a maze. Wouldn't want you to get confused, now would I?

* * *

**Thanks**: HalfMetal Homunculus (Mana), miyako14, and Nyte Kit.

What do you think? Have i piqued anyone's interest? (Poke and prod at me to finish the fic, if i have.)

12:00 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Wednesday, September 21, 2005.

Owakare.

Chiisai Mu.  
_Little Nothing._


	6. Nyte Kit I

Bittersweet

**Dedicated to Nyte Kit, who wanted me to "dazzle her with my creative brilliance," and obviously has some of her own to think of this before i did.**

Warnings:  
1) Shounen ai. (Coulda seen that comin' from a mile away...)  
2) Sexual implications, rape implications, S&M implications, pedophilia/necrophilia implications, etcetera.  
3) My favorite pairing, which should be obvious to you people by now. (It makes me smile.)  
4) Murder. (That makes me smile too.) Character death.  
5) A completely fabricated, disturbing past for one character.

Genre: i think it's horror. A tad mystery, suspense; maybe a little angst.

Author's notes: What's really ironic is that when i began this, the song "Tainted Love" by Marilyn Manson was playing on my stereo. O.o Anyway, this is something else that i had thought of doing for a while, though not specifically with these two characters. i'll explain after the chapter.

To Nyte Kit: This isn't exactly how you asked, but i included some of the points you made. i'm sorry if it disappoints, but i can always write something else if you want. Just say the word and i'll try to adhere to your specifications a little better. It wasn't intentional, i just didn't take a close enough look at what you'd said before i began.

Enjoy.

* * *

With a quiet look of savage appreciation, he slinked forward, eyeing the one sitting in the chair. The other had a look of bored exhaustion on his face, as if he had been sitting there for a long day with nothing to do, but thought alone had devastated his energy supply. It was the look one had after getting off an airplane, the look that was brought about by doing nothing but staring out the window and wondering how long it would be until something interesting would happen.

The chair was of redwood, high-backed with long arms and a black plush cushion. Said cushion was currently hidden, though. A down blanket was covering the occupant's lap and did a thorough job of hiding the cushion as well as the legs of the occupant and of the chair, one of which was splintering. The chair would have to be replaced, though neither of them were up for the task. It had been several long months since either had left the lofty castle, with its high-rising towers and jet-black stone walls, with its marble floors and crystal chandeliers that were covered with many decades' worth of grime. The remnants of a fallen chandelier were scattered in an unused ballroom down the hall from the bedchamber the pair were lingering within. The fixture had only fallen three weeks before, caused by the tremors of an angry explosion. The broken edges of the crystals were free of all filth save a fine layer of dust and glittered to the room around them, casting illusions of light on the walls that would astound a child, the light coming from the candles that were perpetually lit and never seemed to melt. These candles were strewn around the stone citadel, always there for light to whomever it would benefit. After the family of this castle had nearly died out almost half a century before, the radiance only benefitted the rats and insects that would starve to death in these halls. The bats tended to shun the light and fluttered around the scarce unlit corridors, feeding on the foolish insects that dared to wander into their territory.

This bedchamber the pair occupied was as in disrepair as the rest of the castle with the exception of the large bed, which was made of ebony and decked out in black covers; it was a four-poster bed with black lace hangings generously shrouding whoever chose to sleep there. The walls seemed to bleed with morning dew and the raindrops that leaked in through other breeches in the castle's exterior; they trickled as if through instinct down walls and through cracks and made the stone walls sweat. This course of water had, in time, eaten away at the ancient portraits that were adorning the walls. The wooden frames were warped and discolored, the paintings themselves nursing mold in the corners as the paint bled with the dew and rain water. Only one of the seven portraits on the walls could be visually distinguished as a demon countenance. This picture was of an attractive female in a scarlet taffeta dress, sitting in the very same chair that one of the occupants of the room was lounging in. Her hair was ebony and her skin fair, her body beautiful with all its curves and plump breasts and tiny waist. Her face was melting, though. The only possible way to tell that her face was indeed attractive was the word of the master of this castle, who had admitted that such a female had been his mother before she'd been murdered. However, he refused to admit that it had been his older brother that had caused her demise.

That older brother who had killed his mother had also had a hand in slaughtering their father, then proceeded to murder their sister, whose plan it had been to butcher everyone else in the family and take the treasures hidden within the villa. She had been foolish to trust her brother. He killed her after they murdered their parents, then turned his attentions to the shocked violet eyes of his younger brother, a sly smirk on his lips. Evil brother, that one. Demented, cruel, sadistic, and lustful. He had bid his brother forward and proceeded to warp his young mind. Poor child had only been seven in years, added to three months. He had been so proud of those three months, as it made him seem older in his own eyes. But with these revelations, that age brought insanity, he didn't want to be older like his brother, who had begun touching the corpses in places that ought not to be touched, and in ways that shouldn't be done. As these bodies decomposed, he got tired of them and turned his attentions to that no-longer-innocent, nonconsensual little brother.

These tales were locked deep within two minds, and only two minds, with the addition of the murder of that older brother. Fratricide. Murder. Blood.

Loyalty lies in blood, and this was his form of loyalty. He had let the sword fall from his grasp and lapped up the blood from his fingers and face, then gave his older brother the same farewell that the monster had given to their parents and sister. Immediately afterward, he burned the body in one of the many grates scattered among the castle walls. He spat into the ashes and left, ignoring that the fortress around him was falling to pieces, just as he did now. His guest didn't mind that the building was decimating itself over their heads and under their feet. He didn't mind much of anything anymore.

These stories were only for one mind, but two held it within. The master of this castle was unaware that the spirits lingering around could whisper to his guest and speak the yarns hidden inside these walls, could easily lead that guest to where the bones of that murdered family were buried inside a trunk stored in a locked room that would forever be barred from anyone going inside. But his guest didn't care to rise and uncover these bones. His respect for the dead and thoughts of burying those bones vanished when his will to live was depleted. He couldn't acknowledge that they were actually worth respecting when they made such pathetically desperate attempts to be recognized. They couldn't affect him anyway.

But the tales themselves had left their mark. After hearing the whispers in his tormented sleep for so long, these occurrences were etched into his conscious thoughts. He saw through the eyes of these murdered demons and through the eyes of the abusive brother and through the reflection in the eyes of the demon that was his host. He saw it all and, at first, it had made him cough up a tide of vomit out the window. That window had been the closest thing to a toliet he could get to, but he heard the splash of his fluids clashing against the stone walls outside before soiling the brown grass on the ground. The sound had awaken his host, upon which time his face had been forced into the pillow, as it had been every evening and most mornings. Eventually, it wasn't so sickening, seemed almost acceptable. The more he saw through the brother's eyes, the more he thought like this abusive, demented, sadistic, necrophiliac demon. And, slowly, he grew listless and cold.

So, as violet eyes met emerald eyes, that savage need appeared. Again the one in the chair looked out the window, begrudgingly moving the blanket aside. A mask was dropped to the ground, causing a resounding clang. Lips were pressed brutally to lips and two hands tore into the river of ebony hair. This inital exchange was the softest that the fox would allow himself to drop to. He thought himself too giving at times, allowing such a gentle touch to his host, but he was sure that the bomb-wielding demon's brother would not have allowed such a luxury. He would have tore into him, done as he chose, hurt his playmate into shedding tears not of pain, but of horror and shame. His psychological abuse would force his partner into assuming he, that partner, was at fault. And as the years had snailed by, he'd gotten much better at it and had chosen to divulge the secrets to the fox.

No longer was Kurama the defenseless one. No longer was it Karasu's sadism that brought them physically together. It was the fox's lessons from a demon long since executed and cremated, sent to the grave by one that resented those lessons and memories. And these actions of his beloved fox were so familiar that it actually scared him. He was genuinely afraid of his fox. But he detested allowing this fear to show, so he thought on other things, boring things, trivial things, as he ignored that those emerald orbs were always at attention and watching him with a lust similar to that of his older brother. But he couldn't ignore it as soon as only the horizon bled and the majority of the sky was a silky sapphire. For that had become the fox's favorite time of evening, just as it had been his brother's, and such was a just reason for a celebratory ritual of degrading and demoralizing that violet-eyed child that sat within the hidden chambers of Karasu's heart, crying and alone. And every time the fox saw fit to play his games, that child wept harder and whispered curses he'd heard his father mutter when something had gone sour, or that he'd heard his sister spout when she was denied freedoms, or heard his brother whisper to him to rip another hole in his soul. But never would his mother swear. She was the proper, comforting one that chose to hold him when he was scared, but she was lying on the floor of his mind, bleeding, dead eyes watching him as the fox did and frightening him further.

The fox heaved a sigh and watched the ceiling, his arms folded behind his head as a makeshift pillow, despite him having several beneath him. His gaze didn't see fit to stray to his host when Karasu left the bed. He didn't care to look up as his host donned his pants or left the room, a deep frown affixed to his face. He only cared to look up when a sense of déjà vu came over him and his eyes widened.

For the second time in his life, Karasu lapped up the blood from his hands and the sword, then gave the corpse of an oppressing demon the derogatory farewell it deserved.

* * *

And _that_ is an example of a protagonist/antagonist switch, which i had wanted to do, but never got around to it. Thank you Nyte Kit for bringing this up. i really like this chapter. i'm so proud of it. Almost brings a tear to the eye. Heh.

**Thanks!** Mr. Shishio, Miya, miyako14, and Nyte Kit. (i have 234 kilobytes done for Poetic Justice and eight and a half chapters added to that prologue done. Am i working hard enough?)

Hope you liked.

11:50 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Wednesday, September 28, 2005.

Owakare.

Chiisai Mu.  
_Little Nothing._


	7. Thief

Second Chance

**Dedicated to Thief (The Thief Kuronue), who wrote a request long enough to fill a eight and a half by eleven inch piece of paper.** (Yes, i printed it out.)** Specific much? XD**

Warnings:  
1) Lovely angst  
2) Self-mutilation/violence implications  
3) Possible OOCness (i'm not really experienced with secondary characters...)  
4) No pairings? (Is that a real warning?) No shounen ai. (In my book, _that_ is a valid warning.)

Genre: Angst and drama. i think i got the genres right this time. Yayness.

Author's notes:  
1) This is my first shot at playing to a secondary character's persona. However, i'll try my best. You can't blame me for trying, ne?  
2) Surnames first, given names second, as i find myself always doing now, for the satisfaction of whatever inane part of my mind that decided it was appropriate.  
3) The "Demon Door's Cave," that's the term, yes? i'm going to say "Demon Gate" for simplicity and my own fingers liking the phrase.

To Thief: Go ahead and link it if you so desire. But, to be honest, with all the detail you put in there, it seems like it would have been more gratifying on your part if you wrote it yourself. Just some friendly advice, though it in no way means that i didn't want to write it. One, it gives me something to do. Two, this dedication is helping me get my hands into the secondary characters a little more. Yayness. Anyway, i changed a few things about your design, but it's the same concept. Also, i would have loved to make this longer, but i'm kind of limiting myself on how long i make these chapters, and i don't think i could extend it into two. Sorry. Hope you like.

* * *

The ticking of raindrops clashing against the window pane alerted the classroom to the beginning of another rainstorm. From his vantage point beside the window, Mitarai Kiyoshi could spare a glance out that window every few minutes and give himself a little gratification that would otherwise be absent from this ordinary day. His English book was open on the surface of his desk, half ignored as he chanced another look out to the rain. Beyond the clouds, a burst of sun was bleeding through, causing a formation that reminded him of the Japanese flag. A good omen? He hoped so, though the fact that the flag only took on such a form during times of war didn't occur to him at the moment. He gave a subdued grin before shifting his gaze back to the teacher and gave his entire attention to the lesson. 

The end of class came abruptly, as absorbed into the class that Mitarai had been, and it seemed a surprise when he packed his satchel and left the school, listening as his shoes clicked against the concrete like the raindrops had against the window. Unfortunately, by this time, the storm had passed and the ground was quickly drying with the summer heat. The school year had only begun and warm weather was sure to come, bringing with it a possible lack of precipitation.¹ The prospect was a little deterring, but Mitarai tried to avoid letting it bring his mood down. He'd been depressed for far too long and wasn't about to allow such trivialities to bring his life to a halt as he once had. The lack of rain, the bullies, the classwork, he'd try to take it all in stride and refuse to allow any of it to bring him down.

After the incident with the Demon Gate and Sensui, Mitarai had taken a close look at himself and at the people around him. There were those that taunted him and tried to pick fights as often as five times a day, but there were also those that were better than that, those that cared to help others, no matter what the circumstances. There were people like the ones portrayed on the video tape Sensui had showed him snippets of—which still haunted his dreams on occasion—and there were those like his friends, like Kuwabara, especially. The human race was full of contradictions and fiends and friends and, to be honest with himself and with the world around him, Mitarai couldn't quite figure the world out. How could a place contain so many different people and opinions without collapsing? He couldn't quite comprehend it and dwelling on it often caused him a massive headache. So, in lieu of attempting to understand, he left things as they were.

"Hey, Mitarai!" a gruff voice called across the yard at him, halting his steps and causing him to pivot to spare a glance to the owner of said voice. Any good mood the rain had brought him promptly dried up like droplets on sun-heated concrete. Striding across the yard were three of the people that had plagued him relentlessly before Sensui had ever come into play, those people that aided in Mitarai's hatred of humans in general and his urge to help Sensui to eliminate the whole of the human race. "Where do you think you're going, pal?" The water manipulator was a little curious as to his restraint of language, as normally more obscene and derogatory "nicknames" were given to him. A smirk was directed to him before he turned back around and moved out into the crowded street, hoping to lose them in the tide of bodies.

It had been a couple months since the Demon Gate had been opened and closed again, since Sensui had led Kuwabara and his friends into the demon realm. Beyond that gate, Mitarai didn't know what specifically had happened. All he was aware of was that Kuwabara and his friends had come out and Sensui had not, meaning the safety of the human race was virtually secured for the time being. Not that Mitarai knew that such was exactly beneficial for the three worlds, but he wasn't about to dispute the result with _his_ confusion.

During the months since the Demon Gate had been opened and closed, Mitarai had felt a flood of confidence in his own abilities, had felt a new rush of self-esteem wash over him like the tides of the ocean. He'd felt strong enough even to stand up to those bullies that had taunted and teased him for so long, had responded to their beatings and thrown a few of his own punches. More often than not, the fight was intercepted by a teacher or someone else of apparent authority. Only once had they backed away of their own accord, the first time that he'd hit one of them, which they'd done more from shock than anything else. After that, they'd sworn to be more vicious and aggressive, and—against all odds and expectations of them actually fulfilling a promise, despite the content of said vow—they kept their word. The result was Mitarai fleeing from the area when he caught sight of any of them. Despite the warm feelings that he felt in-between, he was in the same boat as he had been before. And it was beginning to worry his mother, he knew. He'd overheard her speaking with his sister on the matter, how he was arriving home later and later every evening and had missed several occasions that had been previously arranged. But he couldn't tell them what was happening. He couldn't worry them like that. And his jacket—hood and sleeves—did well to hide the symptoms of the abuse he suffered, not only at the hands of others.

It was in times like these that he realized how foolish he'd been in thinking he could lead a good life, that he could actually avoid physical and emotional pain at the hands of others. He listened to his breaths heave in and out as he ran down an alley, toward what he knew to be a shortcut home. He slid to a halt, finding that one of his pursuers was standing at the end of that alley. He backtracked and headed toward another alley.

What option did he have but to run or give up? How could he possibly stand up to the trauma that they would inevitably inflict on him, that the _world_ would inevitably inflict on him? He didn't know what he'd done to the world, save the little venture with Sensui, but whatever it was surely didn't justify this interminable agony! The thoughts that raced through his mind—of death and disease; the memories he mined through night after night—the black eyes and bloody lips, the razor blade scratches he gave himself because he was too much of a coward to even cut into his fingertips anymore; the physical abuse—getting beaten and beating himself up, vomiting late at night from disgust with himself when that swollen ego he'd had before came back to haunt his depressed illusions. He couldn't fight back anymore now that he restricted himself from his water manipulating abilities. But that wasn't the extent of it. With that confusion with the world he felt, _could_ he even bring himself to harm another being? Could he lower himself back to that level he'd been on while under Sensui's tutelage? Could he hurt another like he'd almost killed Kuwabara that night so long ago? He didn't think he could. So, what option did he have other than to run or give up? Where were the choices that humans supposedly inherently had?

A wrong turn brought Mitarai the answer to part of his question, though not really what he'd been asking. To run or to give up? It appeared he would have to give up. He pivoted to find his three pursuers behind him, while the cold, angry steel of a chain-link fence blocked his front. He was trapped between apathetic teenagers with god complexes and just as apathetic and cold metal. One cracked his knuckles before approaching. Mitarai just stood there as he came, a subtle frown on his face and a forlorn look in his cerulean eyes.

Droplets of blood fell to the ground like scarlet rain as Mitarai plummeted after the first punch, the fount being his nose, which was in enough pain for him to fool himself into thinking it broken. He slammed against the chain-link fence before his back could touch the ground, resting him in a slouched sitting position. He was kicked in the abdomen next, eliciting a harsh cough from him before he curled his arms around his torso, his daypack somewhere on the ground, abandoned. He looked up, awaiting more pain, but found his assault had come to an abrupt stop at the appearance of three figures in the mouth of the alley. One form was clearly recognizable to the water manipulator.

With his arms folded over his chest and a look of mellow disappointment in his eyes, Kuwabara watched the other, finding a look of lost desolation on his face and in his eyes. On either side of him were Kido and Yanagisawa, each glaring vehemently at Mitarai's attackers, though Kuwabara refused to allow his gaze to leave the water manipulator. It took a moment of that firm gaze, that apparent accusation in the other's eyes, that "So, you gave up that easily, huh?" look, for Mitarai to bow his head in disgrace and let a deep frown mold the contours of his face. Tears began welling in his eyes, making it impossible for him to catch the details of the fight that dispatched his pursuers. And he didn't care to listen to the verbal confrontation that had preceded it.

The trio approached the water psychic after a moment of silence, while the three bullies crawled from the ground and retreated, ignored as they did so. "You okay?" Kido asked quietly, a benign grin on his lips. Mitarai didn't care to respond. Neither did he look, nor feel okay, but it wasn't another's problem. He couldn't force his woes and trivialities on another so apathetically. They were his burdens to bear, no matter that he made it a habit to run from them. That was his method of coping, and it worked for him for the time.

"You know, sitting there isn't going to get them to leave you alone," Kuwabara muttered to him, aggravation coloring his words. "You can't let them get away with that."

"And what am I supposed to do?" he whispered bitterly in response, his eyes on the ground and wisps of his hair hiding his face and his tears. "I'm not strong or special like you all. I can't do this. What am I supposed to do?"

"Throw a punch, for starters," Yanagisawa attempted lightheartedly, receiving a scathing glare in response. He recoiled a bit, having not expected such a look on Mitarai's face. The other stated plainly that such a strategy hadn't worked. It was useless, futile, pathetic, fruitless to even attempt.

With a snort, Kuwabara told him, "It takes a long time to sink as low as you've gotten." That was true. In the beginning, Mitarai had ignored the bullies and hadn't cared about their remarks or insults. It had taken years for them to gain that stringent hold on his emotions and mental workings, to anchor themselves to his everyday life and make his decisions always affected by how it would tie into the abuse he suffered. "It takes longer to pull yourself back out. And you're the only one that can do that. You aren't going to have someone else save you forever, and keeping things as they are will only get you killed. Would you leave your family to grieve like that?" Mitarai turned a shocked look to him. "Things that affect your life don't only affect you. And we can't help you if you don't help yourself. You've got a long life ahead of you. Don't let someone else lead it."

"I _can't_ help myself!"

"Like hell you can't! Just because you're not strong doesn't mean you can't fight back! If not with your fists, then other ways! You've seen Kurama fight once, back when Sensui was still alive! He doesn't rely on sheer brute force, he uses his mind, and you can do the same! Being strong doesn't mean you're special and vice versa. But being weak and giving up are the same. You're not weak. I know you're not. So, why the hell are you giving up?"

Without waiting for an answer, Kuwabara pivoted on his heel and left the alley. Kido and Yanagisawa each spared the water manipulator a look before leaving as well. Mitarai was left to observe as they turned the corner and sauntered away, wondering out of the blue if the sun would be shining tomorrow, or if he would see another bout of beautiful rain.

* * *

¹ i heard from a reliable source that the school year in Japan begins in April. So, i'm believing it and incorporating it into the fic.

* * *

O.o i attempted to stick in there as many allusions to water as i could. i thought it would be entertaining. i didn't do too bad with that, i think. 

Well, that was my attempt. i hope it's at least semi-decent. Part of me is saying good linguistics don't make up for lack of knowing a character well, but another part of me is saying i will be forgiven for ignorance. Don't get me wrong, i've seen the series and know what i'm doing, but i've never used Mitarai in one of my fics before, posted or not. So...how did i do for my first shot?

i really wanting to try some shounen ai implications in there. But i didn't. 'Cause Thief said no pairings. i'm a good little writing-slave-servant-person. _Good_ little writing-slave-servant-person.

**Thanks!** lunareclipse24, BHS, miyako14, Nyte Kit (go ahead and use the format; i only made it up, 'cause it's organized), and FrozenBlueRose. Thankies.

**Special Notice**: You're forewarned. i'm not getting enough requests and, if i don't get more, this may have to go on hiatus. i've made special requests from two people and expect that many more chapters, but after that, we've run dry.

2:00 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Wednesday, October 05, 2005.

Owakare.

Chiisai Mu.  
_Little Nothing._


	8. Mana II

Capital Punishment

**Dedicated to Mana (HalfMetal Homunculus). She and i...well, you always hurt the ones you love and, boy, we love Kurama a whole lot!**

Warnings:  
1) Character death.  
2) Possible information overload.  
3) The combination of Mana's idea and my research and writing.  
4) No real plot-line (just a jumble of mixed thoughts and feelings and information).

Genre: Drama. Tidbits of angst.

Author's notes: You **cannot** imagine how enthralled i was when i researched this topic. There's no possible way. It's amazing how different it is in Japan, judging solely on an American point of view. Now, this may sound morbid, but i think it's simply fascinating. "It" being capital punishment, of course.

* * *

A cold feeling washed over him that morning. That feeling of foreboding, the one that said today was the day he'd die, the one that made a shiver run up his spine and linger maliciously at the base of his skull until he had to scratch at it like an itch. That feeling, the one that he got every morning now. He hated the mornings now. He had for a good year and a half, sitting there alone, worrying, cold, depressed, wronged. The most accurate word was that final one: wronged. How was it that he was so wronged by this human world? The demon realm was much more cutthroat than the human one, but this was the plane that threw him into a cell and left his mind to rot before his day came. 

He was so wronged, but no one believed him. Not one person in the judicial system would take his word for it and mull over the discrepancies of the case. How could they imagine that he would do such a thing? And how could they sentence him to such a fate?

Of course, he hadn't once thought that he would be found innocent. After all, the conviction rate in Japan _was_ ninety nine percent. He had a snowball's chance in the proverbial Christian Hell of being dubbed innocent. So, he'd gone to trial, knowing that it was absolutely futile to argue his case, despite the fact that he was innocent. Even his lawyer had thought he'd done it, as apathetic to the matter as he was. He'd spent most of his time staring down at his lap with a woeful grin playing on his lips and that look in his eyes of a sentient cartoon puppy that had just lost his favorite squeaky-toy. Given that he hadn't even cared to look at the judge that would decide his fate, no one had cared to even consider the possibility that he hadn't committed the crime.

After the trial, after his conviction, after he was sentenced to death, he was thrown in a cold little place, all alone, wronged, hurt, shamed, and sorrowful. Of all the things to be convicted for, he was thrust into the legal system due to something he had never committed. If he had been given the time to find those that had done such a wrong, he'd have gladly taken his punishment for massacring those bastards, but he took the blame for a crime he'd never commit.

The accused: Minamino Shuichi. The crime: the murders of his mother, stepfather, and stepbrother. Verdict: guilty of all charges. Sentence: death by hanging.

And who knew when his day would come? It could be today, it could be tomorrow. For all he knew, he'd gone insane already and it had been yesterday, but he couldn't follow along with how his life had turned and twisted on him. He didn't quite recall being told that he was dying or anything of the like, didn't know what it was like to be blindfolded before going to the scaffold.

All that he knew was that he'd been drenched in blood when the police had arrived and, somehow, his mind had erased whatever memories he had of the event. He didn't know who had killed his family or how it had all happened while he was sitting right there, but he would have found out eventually if the police hadn't come and arrested him. He would have tracked the bastards down and slaughtered them, then taken his punishment from both the human world police and from Koenma for his heinous actions. But as it currently stood, he saw himself as innocent and betrayed by the legal system he had come to rely on for his mother's peace of mind.

It was cold in the prison. He'd been sitting in the cell for over a year, only allowed a single visit from his lawyer, which wasn't at all consoling. It was times like these that he wished for the systems of another country. He had pleaded with whatever higher being might take pity on him that Yusuke or Kuwabara or someone would disguise himself as a family member and sneak in, but it was so highly unlikely that he almost wanted to vomit because of his own weakness of heart. He was no coward, but he felt so alone.

A prison guard walked by his cell, took a peek in, then sauntered by, making the early morning rounds and seeing that, once again, Minamino Shuichi couldn't sleep. The boy, only recently come of age, had been restless and disquieted ever since his conviction. He'd seen it before, those innocent ones always pacing, always uneasy. The guilty ones would calm down and accept that they were caught. And this boy was as edgy as any he'd ever set eyes on. It was a real pity that young ones like him got convicted as well. He'd had his whole life ahead of him and, from the looks of him and the sound of his voice and the way he carried himself, he was intelligent, charismatic, and respectful. He would have gotten somewhere in life if this hadn't come to pass. The guard shook his head languidly and moved on.

Breakfast was served, last meals for some. Minamino Shuichi refused to eat. He did that occasionally, most often at breakfast, when he was either feeling abstemious or nauseous. This morning, he just didn't feel like eating with that foreboding sitting so contentedly inside his belly. He knew it would get crowded if he ate and would travel up to his gullet and make him feel sick. Then, he'd either have to bear the nausea until the food passed through him or induce vomiting and cause his throat pain. Either way, he wasn't too fond of the result, as some hunger was well worth the prevention of such discomforts.

The sky outside the window was dark and grey, like the inside of his mind. How fuzzy his thoughts were getting, overridden by sorrow and anger. His mother was dead, he knew. It had taken the whole of a month for his mind to finally accept it, the whole of that month he should have been preparing for his trial, and he'd gone into a dark wallowing of mourning and hatred in himself for being unable to protect her as he'd always promised himself that he would. He'd let her down, and in doing so he'd let himself down. And how miserable he felt about it, how detestable and disgusting. What was he but a little whelp of a human, one that couldn't lift a hand to the attacker of his mother, of his family, to protect them from harm? He should have died with them if he couldn't protect them as a demon ought to be able to do against a hapless human assault. Why was it that he couldn't recall the attack? Or the attackers?

"Pathetic, Minamino-kun," he whispered to himself, knowing that another couldn't hear his words. "Brilliantly pathetic."

How he wanted to weep for his lost family, for their shattered lives and hopes and dreams. But not a tear would seep from his emerald orbs, not one solitary droplet of liquid pain. He couldn't divine why, and he couldn't explain it to another through lies. There was no explanation as far as he was concerned, though he had already come to the realization that, as of the day of his conviction, he was utterly alone in the world. The world was restricted to the prison, but within the frore walls was a world to him and his fellow inmates, a realm of mediocre food and lumpy beds, of guards and imminent death hanging over one's head, of cold eyes from others and the sly grins of those that could get their hands on cigarettes and would share if another should follow their whim. He could have stolen those cigarettes with the greatest of ease, but he had never gotten into the habit of making himself addicted to whatever pointless human substance another would indulge in. He had at least that much self-respect, even after the amnesia that left him hating himself for being incapable of saving his human mother's life.

The cell door slid open and Minamino Shuichi glanced away from the window, seeing a guard with a set of handcuff, another with a blindfold. It was his time, then? Of course it was. Otherwise they wouldn't be in front of his cell, now would they? He stood from the bed and sauntered languidly to them, allowing the unnecessary restraints to be added as he was lead to the preparation room and left to watch a statue of a human-worshipped goddess, Kannon, the goddess of mercy, before the blindfold was slipped over his eyes. The goddess of mercy. How absolutely inappropriate. If these humans were to be merciful, they would have believed that he hadn't murdered the family so precious to him, they would have allowed him to see his friends one last time, they would have let him butcher those pathetic humans that had murdered his family in cold blood and let him bathe in the crimson life he spilt from their veins. How merciful were they when they allowed someone barely over the age of eighteen to walk to the gallows to be hanged? He was on his way to the "world of death" below the scaffold, where the living generally avoided.

After being lead to a room he couldn't see, Minamino Shuichi, Youko Kurama, a human boy with a respectful disposition, a set of intelligent eyes, and a charismatic persona, was brought in below a noose and strung up. Below his feet was a trap door. As the seconds ticked by like a thousand eternities each, he wondered when it would happen. A split second of weightlessness told him he was as good as dead. He never felt as his neck snapped.

* * *

Based on my research, these things, which i've at least alluded to in this chapter, are true.  
— There's a ninety nine percent conviction rate in Japan for criminal trials.  
— There's no jury in Japan; a judge deems whether they're innocent or guilty.  
— Capital punishment in Japan is reserved for severe crimes, such as multiple homicides at once.  
— Hanging is the most frequent method of capital punishment in Japan, since they deemed that it isn't cruel or unusual.  
— Japanese on death row are told the morning of their execution when they're to die, which can be viewed as a mercy to allow them time to adjust to inevitable execution or a cruelty in that it can cause them to lose their sanity.  
— Death row inmates get the bare minimum for visits: only family members and defense counsel. And Kurama's family was dead, so the lawyer seems the only one to visit.  
— The condemned never see the room they're hanged in; they're blindfolded as they watch a statue of said goddess, then are led beyond.  
— The "world of death" is a cold concrete room below the trap door.  
(For more information, go here. www .japansociety .org/ corporate/ fellowship (underscore) essay .cfm ? id (underscore) fellowship (equals sign) 957833201 Of course, remove the spaces and substitute the necessary symbols.)

* * *

**Thanks!** FrozenBlueRose, Nyte Kit, and miyako14. Yayness for you. 

Horray for death scenarios. Horray for research that makes me grin maniacally. Horray for Kurama torture scenes. And horray for Mana's ideas.

Hope you all liked.

12:05 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Wednesday, October 12, 2005.

Owakare.

Chiisai Mu.  
_Little Nothing._


	9. Aika II

Living Tortured

**Dedicated to Aika-chan (FrozenBlueRose), who told me "Sometimes, living tortured is worse than dying." i love her so much.**

Warnings:  
1) Lunacy.  
2) Nightmares.  
3) Something so close to incest you can taste your mother's tongue, but not incest.  
4) Crack-pairing. (One of those "What are you smoking and where can i get some?" pairings.)  
5) Sexual implications.  
6) No shounen ai. (GASP!)

Genre: Mystery, drama, tidbit of horror.

Author's Notes: Aika told me to do something that messed around with time, so i suggested this pairing and she agreed. Yayness, 'cause i'm actually sort of fond of this freaky-ass pairing. Amazing as it is, this pairing is not shounen ai. Though, people that are sensitive to things incestuous or thereupon may want to skip this chapter. Remember, **i warned you**...

* * *

A shuddering breath preceded a sharp sensation within him, something extreme and potent, like the thrust of a knife into his chest, but nowhere near as painful. This was akin to violent pain, something just as ripe and awakening, but far from the same sensation. Perhaps it was more like a drug, the illegal kind especially. Not like alcohol or cigarettes, but like heroin or cocaine, that euphoric feeling that fluttered through the system like a butterfly, as each individual flap of its wings caused a typhoon halfway across the world. And he felt a flood of this through his body, like a thousand, no, a million monarch butterflies dancing through his body and causing typhoons of feeling inside. And it all struck him at once, with the finale of a series of repetative movements.

Perspiration was trickling down all over his body, his breaths were harsh and exhausted, he was spent of his energy and wanted dearly to sleep. And soon he would, after this paradise of feeling had wandered away.

If he felt so good, why were there tears running down his cheeks and soaking into the pillow below his head? What pillow? He was hovering over another, wasn't he? Was he? Tears and tears and tears fell from his crystaline orbs, supporting that agony inside that this was so wrong, but it couldn't be changed. That this ecstacy was tainted and foul.

The shroud of euphoria fell away, leaving behind only the tears. A short sniff was followed quickly by bitten lips, a barrier to force down the wail that was soon to rise. What was happening to his dreams, his memories, his past and his present? Why were these visions of physical "love" and familiar eyes coming to him, so brimming with that same ecstacy that he had felt? That very same ecstacy that left a sticky mess in his pajama pants. And why couldn't he place the face with those eyes? He knew the eyes so extensively, so thoroughly, but he couldn't recognized them as he felt his dream's lips fall on those that went these eyes. He could only be grateful that the other had been willing, otherwise he'd feel guilt in that semi-conscious daze that didn't allow for his conscious restrictions of human feeling. His self-made barriers against such hindrances were shattered in that dream state, leaving him open for the onslaught of tears that were now drifting down his face.

Throwing away the covers, he rose from bed and went to take a shower to clean himself of the mess in his pants. He despised this sticky feeling. He had for as long as he could remember. Normally, the mess went into another's crevice, in lieu of on his front.

The bathroom door opened up and immediately a mirror was set before his eyes, along with a digital clock-radio that others would listen to while bathing. Shortly before dawn, no one else awake, he could sit in the stream of water for hours and no one would know, he could wander outside, inside, through doors and in windows, past homes and people, by cars and storefronts. No one would know. Ever. He could—

Shaking his head, he tried to toss away the reflexes he naturally had from his living as a thief. His mind always automatically analyzed situations and advantages, choices and routes. And he couldn't suppress it, like he couldn't suppress the dreams.

A face devoid of its normal color faced him from the mirror, two emeralds embedded in it, framed by millions of threads of scarlet silk. So strong that face normally looked, so determined its eyes, so bold its frown, so graceful its smile, so full of life. And here it looked cadaverous because of a simple dream causing disturbing images that shouldn't have been at all disquieting. Those experiences had been quotidian enough, so he should have been accustomed to the concept. But there was something so wrong, something that tried to break free, into his memory, within that dream.

The door was shut and the stream of shower water began. It warmed quickly, so he stepped inside, not bothering to remove his pants as they needed to be cleansed as well. It was unorthodox in the human realm, but since when was he one to obey human customs?

Always the same eyes stared back at him, warm chocolate eyes, like steaming hot cocoa, minus the typical white film covering the surface. A fair complexion around those eyes, but then his vision was cut short and the eyes disappeared as his own closed with the rush of drug-like euphoria. It had washed over him like the spray of water was now, rushing throughout his body like a bursting dam. And those eyes had vanished.

The vital piece to the puzzle, what would bring all those dreams into perspective and reveal the memory, was the realization of the face with those eyes, the person who had that face, and knowing who exactly he'd found himself with that night and why he felt such a disrupting feeling now, of all times. The identity of that one-time lover was so necessary, yet so far from his reach that he felt subsufficient. Normally he could come to a conclusion where these thing were concerned, but he was genuinely lost.

The warmth of the water soaked into his pants and his hair, the soothing temperature made hotter simply because it was wet. The thought led to another and another, reminding him of so many experiences, too many to count. It reminded him of his childhood, playing in a friend's pool while adults watched from a short distance away. He remembered observing as others attempted to bathe a cat, though he knew that it wasn't an intelligence thing to do and had stood back as the others got attacked. He remembered the first time his mother had bathed him after they returned from the hospital. His mother had stroked fingers through the peach fuzz on his head and whispered words of astonishment, of how his hair was so unique and it must have been his father's doing. He'd been confused about that, but had left the statement to die from his memory. He remembered floating in the warm womb before birth, how he'd emerged and the first time he opened his eyes fully, he found himself staring at eyes that looked like hot cocoa.

With wide eyes, he found his mind wandering over so many experiences that some got confused with the others. But a single idea was coursing over his immediate consciousness. His eyes and his hair color. They weren't normal for his nationality. Meaning there was intervention in his genetic makeup. It all made sense. It all made horrific, terrible sense.

In the instances of some demonic reproduction, there is no dominant or recessive genes. The genes mix and match to form different DNA entirely. The natural colors blend as if they were wet paint on paper. Red and blue make purple, yellow and purple make brown; manipulation of melding two colors may eventually create red, and two other colors could create green. So, the dead man cremated and dubbed his genetic father was not his genetic father. His genetic father was a pile of bones in the demon realm, once a fantastic thief, now in the half-human body of his own son.

The dreams were of himself lying in bed with the one that would become his mother, wholly by accident. The dreams were that lost memory resurfacing. The dreams finally ceased as he sat by the window for years afterwards, watching the hapless landscape of human realm industrialization from inside a psychiatric institution.

* * *

That didn't turn out quite as planned, but i don't think it's _too_ bad. i still like this pairing, though, so i'm satisfied. i also love the idea of Kurama being his own father. i come up with the oddest ideas, ne?

Okay, no, it's not incest, 'cause Youko Kurama wasn't related to Shiori when this happened. Not incest. But damn close..._damn_ close.

**Thanks!** Mana (HalfMetal Homunculus), miyako14, Nyte Kit, and taku-chans. Yayness for you.

Seems like i should change this fic's title to Variations of Kurama Torture. 'Cause most people seem to be asking for versions on how to torture the fox. O.o

10:45 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Wednesday, October 19, 2005.

Owakare.

Chiisai Mu.  
_Little Nothing._


	10. Nyte Kit II

Time and Time Again

**Dedicated to Nyte Kit, who obviously appreciates giving me wonderful opportunities to brand a fierce scar on the minds of others. How giving she is!**

Warnings:

1) Karasu. ('Nuff said...meaning: torture, shounen ai, rape, character death, possible OOCness, all in one word. Kara-chan's name has that kind of effect where Kurama's concerned.)

Genre: Probably horror. Probably angst. Probably some other things too, but you'll just have to see.

Author's Notes: More Kurama torture! How we do apparently love this... Anyway, this was _astoundingly_ easy to write! For some reason, the ideas that Nyte Kit gives me are apparently suitable to my palate insofar that i can type them out without having to ponder more than a few seconds. And, as it was easy to write and the topic was beautiful, i do so love it.

* * *

Tears streamed from his eyes in hot torrents, scalding his cheeks and ripping hole after hole in his pride with each silver drop. He didn't understand why it always returned to this. For what seemed like an eternity and a half, he'd been wandering through hands and grips and terrible pains, exchanged like currency, forfeited so reluctantly by some to fall into the hands of those so eager to get a piece of him, literally as well as figuratively. But, as fate had it that he would have to suffer so, the more frequent of those whose hands he was passed into were those that caused the deepest wounds: in body, in mind, and in spirit.

For lack of a better explanation, Kurama thought himself framed. There was no memory within the folders, databases, chests, drawers, disks, within the files of his mind that portrayed to his eyes the crime for which he'd gone through a trial and had been convicted, by Koenma, to this heinous torture. Playing toy to some as, with others, he was left to rot, chained to a wall and observing the ravenous consumption of food and drink that was just beyond his reach. How insulting it was that he suffer so when there was no possible way that he'd done the crime. There was no possible way that, of his own free will or under duress, he'd murdered Yusuke and Kuwabara. He couldn't have killed them, not them, not Yukina and Keiko, not Shizuru and Atsuko, not dozens of humans scattered about the city as he'd been convicted of. How could he have done such a thing and not remember it? And, if he'd even done it, there was no way he'd have gotten caught, that was for sure. So, as all logic and reason pointed to, he'd been framed.

"Hello, Kurama," came a familiar voice as he was traded again, reaching the one that caused the deepest physical wounds. Residing in a dungeon area in a little niche in Hell, where Koenma had made the sufferings of said hell slightly more bearable for the sake of giving this monster full ability to harm the fox, Karasu sat on the floor, inside a caged alcove, barred from interaction with anyone not accompanying him within his cell. There were bloodstains on the ground from the last time Kurama had reached this cell, little clumps of hair and rotting flesh that had grown back after a few hours so as to prevent his untimely death. Suffering for the sake of suffering for a crime he hadn't committed, even death being beyond his reach: this was Kurama's punishment for allowing himself to be framed. And, as the circumstances currently were, he would be in a great amount of physical pain for the next thirty six hours for the sake of the libido of a bomb-wielding, homicidal, sadistic _monster_.

Thirty six hours with Karasu, then he would be begrudgingly given up to the next monster to take his physical form for granted and tear a hole in his pride with those never-ending tears that flowed. Then, he would be passed to the one that caused him extensive mental damage, remained with him for thirty six hours and was thrown to another degenerate. Finally, he would be at the mercy of the one that broke him spiritually, broke his soul and his heart. Down to the dregs of demon society after him, then given back to Karasu for the whole process to repeat, and repeat, and repeat, for as long as eternity should last.

The beginning had been too much of a shock for him to have registered the emotional pain, so he'd enveloped himself in the physical agony to prevent his spirit from shattering, hadn't cared to point out to himself that Karasu was abusing him so thoroughly. He was so positive that things would be sorted out that he'd attempted to maintain his dignity by throwing his mind and soul into solitary confinement and refusing to open the door. It had kept him shallow and utterly focused on the physical aspect of life until he'd passed through Karasu and the next, but his mental aspect had been abruptly dragged from the box when he who caused a strain on Kurama's mind had been presented. He'd attempted so thoroughly to close his mind, but it had been impossible. By the time he reached the one that shattered his heart and soul, he hadn't been able to put up much of a struggle and had been forced to tears within minutes, then left with deadening feelings that stung like millions of needle sticks and matchstick burns.

After the process began again, it wasn't difficult to realize that he'd fallen into a trap of ingenious dimensions. And he hadn't even realized that he'd been falling for it, which made him feel all the more insulted and subsufficient. As much of a strategist and a clever fox as he was, he'd dived headlong into the utmost agony that could ever be inflicted upon him. He'd barred his mind and soul from Karasu, leaving his physical form to suffer. And, in doing so, he hadn't prepared his mind and soul for the anguish they would soon be subjected to, leaving him utterly vulnerable when those that could break through the pitiful barrier he'd erected arose. He'd given his physical agony to Karasu, leaving his mind and emotions for those that could easily manipulate and devastate them. Foolish thing to do, but that plot had been ingenious, something Kurama himself would think of if he'd had a purpose to do so.

A shriek rang through the air as thick layers of skin were torn from Kurama's back, exposing the sore muscles and a tiny crack on his scapula. Karasu gave a vicious grin to the crack and pressed a honed fingernail to the chink, digging into it and making the rift wider while the fox screamed, tears constantly slipping from his emerald orbs. If only there was a plant for him to use, a seed within reach, if only all his plants hadn't been stolen from him before his descent into Hell, he'd rip the bomb-wielding demon limb from limb, burst from the confines that shackled him, slaughter Koenma in the most agonizing manner, return to the human realm and continue in life, not allowing anyone to imprison him again. If only he had the faintest of chances...

Like the blink of an eye, the pain ceased and the fox was dragged from his thirty six hour perdition with Karasu to the next stage. The bomb-wielding demon waved languidly to Kurama, anticipating the fox's next visit in one hundred eighty hours. The redhead had to repress a shudder of disgust. The next thirty six hours passed by like seconds and he was given to another of the three worst beings whom he could confront, he who tore into his conscious mind like a chainsaw and decimated everything in its path, then repeated. He gave a single nod of his head, his veil of ebony hair waving foward before returning to its serene position against his chest. The fox returned the nod after the cell door was shut behind him, after he took a seat at the table that the other sat at, adding a verbal greeting. "Yomi."

"You were living such a prosperous human life, Kurama. Why did you forfeit it?" Of course, it was pointless to attempt refuting the statement, that he had done nothing intentionally, as Koenma had long ago convinced everyone he had ordeals with that he was guilty, no exceptions, no denial, no questions. Any argument Kurama had was futile and nothing more than wasted breath. So, for the duration of Kurama's stay with Yomi, he was subjected to degradation and humiliation at the hands of one that shouldn't know all that he did. There were so many facts and memories of Kurama's that he hadn't told another living soul, much less one that he'd saw as low enough to leave for dead in his previous life.

Hours and hours went by and the final implement of torture was displayed. Here was the only room that was not a jail cell, which had deceived Kurama at first into believing that he was being set free, but the locked door behind him was so very familiar that the feeling had fallen away immediately. Upon looking around, the fox found himself staring at a shadowed room with a single grate, violet flames tickling the bricks around them while they feasted delightedly on the wood beneath. There was thick scarlet carpet under Kurama's feet and ebony drapes hung up on the walls around him. It was a morbidly elegant room, Kurama thought at first. Though, after the first ten minutes, he was convinced that it was more of a hell that the cave-like cells he was confined to the rest of the time. These hours were the ones he dreaded most, as there was nothing more devastating than what he witnessed there.

Every time, coming seemingly from nowhere as he often did, Hiei would appear in front of the fireplace, sitting at the edge of the carpet, where it ends before coming within reach of the flames. Every time, the fire demon never took notice of the fox's presence. Every time, the fox watched as Hiei drew a dagger from nowhere and scraped the words "Why did you do it?" into the face of the stone mantle, trace his fingers over the kanji, then stare at that dagger for the longest time before plunging it deep into his abdomen. The fox had shrieked bloody murder and had dashed forward to help, but no matter how many steps he took, no matter how long his stride, he got no closer to the fire demon and eventually collapsed from exhaustion. And he would lie on the ground, curled into a fetal position as he watched his best friend bleed into the carpet, dying, unable to do a thing for the fire demon; he would sob and weep and observe, thinking himself useless for being unable to help Hiei. After the second time this happened, he knew it couldn't be real, but it looked so vivid that he couldn't help himself when he would react so violently time and time again.

Time and time again. He would see all this time and time again, trapped within the curse of his own Evil Thoughts Tree. Unable to escape the clutches of its branches as no one else but himself could release him from it's deadly embrace.

* * *

**Thanks!** Nyte Kit, Aika-chan (FrozenBlueRose), and miyako14. Yayness for you.

Okay, the Evil Thoughts Tree is the _Janen Ju_, but i don't know what the dubbed version calls it. It's what Kurama used on Toguro Ani (the older one) in the Demon Door's Cave. As to _why_ Kurama's stuck in it, use your imagination. To me, it would seem corny and tasteless to explain it right there at the end. i've thought of several scenarios, so you surely can come up with one that you like, or at least think makes sense.

Hope you liked.

11:05 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time. U.S. Wednesday, October 26, 2005.

Owakare.

Chiisai Mu.  
_Little Nothing._


End file.
